Thanks to Mo: Living in the moment...

Maurice Sendak is a rock-star in the world of children's authors and illustrators. In this beautiful piece from NPR, he shares his thoughts about aging. Whether you believe in an after-life or heaven or are an atheist like Maurice, there's something touching about his sentiments... about living in the moment -- something I need to work on in 2013.


http://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2012/12/30/magazine/the-lives-they-lived-2012.html?view=Maurice_Sendak

Hi ho, hi ho...

It’s off to work I go.

After 14-years of having one of the best jobs on the planet, I’m diversifying. I’m taking on a second one.

And yes, I’m thrilled. I’m excited to have a job that will challenge me and let me explore (a bit more on that later) what I went back to school to study. Financially, it won’t be a huge boon to my family, but having another source for insurance is a huge relief. With a chronically ill child who has one medication that costs $2400/month, I stare out the window at night while my brain chews on the “What ifs…”

So, here’s the reality of a new job:

·         Social security – check.

·         Pension – check.

·         A busy mind – check, check, check, check, check.

Quite frankly, I’m scared to death for good reasons (and not-so-good ones, too). For the past 14 years, I have been Mom. When there are sick kiddos, doctor appointments, or activities to be shuttled to and from, I’ve been there.

·         Laundry, meals, housekeeping – all my domain.

So, now, it’s time for me to rely on others, which (as you may recall from a previous blog) isn’t exactly my forte.

At the end of August, our lives will shift after 14-years. I will be a library media assistant (not a teacher-librarian) at an elementary school. In addition, there are other milestones in our family:

·         Emma starts high school – a change for her as she will be at a different school.

·         Ellie starts middle school – again, a change as she will be at the same school as Emma. So, I’m grateful for that.

·         And Olive – well, she will learn what time the bus drops off the girls, and her body clock will know about what time my car will pull into the garage.

Fall: change is in the air.

The Promise Land

When the girls were little, my brother-in-law Jay used to joke about the Promise Land: the day that our then-toddlers would play independently, when life would be "simple." We imagined...

• Stress-free dinners that would not include something labeled a "tot."
• The day when picking a restaurant didn't involve an analysis of how noisy the restaurant was -- with noise being a plus because a screaming toddler would, most likely, go unnoticed.
• The day when we didn't order off the menu as soon as the waitress appeared -- in fear that she might not return again and we might have to leave early because of an unpredictable toddler.
• A living room that wasn't overwhelmed with Legos or stuffed critters.

Some time... somewhere along the way, we reached the Promise Land. There were no signs announcing our arrival, no commemorative t-shirts, no trumpets heralding the day.

It just happened.

And I appreciate the Promise Land...

But there are times when I miss what it was like before...

Because while we are in the Promise Land, my girls are past it. They are in their own worlds. They are independent, fiercely loyal to their friends, and social creatures. While they still want to spend time with us, their worlds are filled with friends and adventure (and even their adventure can leave me in the dust... like riding this log while mountain biking in Sisters, Oregon).

I'm grateful for their spirit, but I wish... oh how I wish... I would have savored those tough times BEFORE we reached the Promise Land. There was an innocence and simplicity amidst all that complexity.

For now, I strap on my helmet and try to keep up -- as long as my girls will let me tag along. Because utimately, this is the Promise Land.

Read, think, do...

Read, every day, something no one else is reading.

Think, every day, something no one else is thinking.

Do, every day, something no one else would be silly enough to do.

It is bad for the mind to be always part of unanimity.

Christopher Morley (1890 - 1957)

A Buttload of Life Lessons

This week, Life pulled up her rusty old pickup and dumped a buttload of Life Lessons on our front yard. There was no order, no sense -- just a pile of lessons that we had to sort through as a family. And here's just one of those lessons...

Empathy...
Our school district has a variety of options programs available for middle and high schoolers who have a passion or interest in a certain area like the arts or science. Unfortunately, these programs are very popular, and to even the playing field, the district randomly chooses students through a lottery.

Both of my girls independently decided to apply to the same options program that allows students to focus on the arts -- ACMA. Days before her 14th birthday, Emma came to me and told me that she had this intuition that she wouldn't get into ACMA, the school of her choice.

Sure enough, two days before her birthday, I go to the mailbox and discover two very different looking envelopes. I brought them inside the house, placing them carefully on the counter. Emma walked by and without touching them, she proclaimed, "Ellie is IN, and I'm not."

Uh huh...

Ellie at BizTown (editor of the Business Journal)

And so my youngest, who has defied the odds when it comes to her illness, yet again defied the odds by making it into ACMA. With 600 applicants across our district, she was one of 70 chosen through a random lottery.

But instead of feeling ecstatic, we were all reminded that Emma didn't...

And neither did many of our great friends who are all so talented in the arts.

The posts on Facebook started to reveal the many classmates who weren't so lucky by the Fickle Finger of Fate.  Those like Emma... the big sister who belts Broadway songs every night in the shower, who sits quietly in her room drawing hour after hour, who has story after story saved on my laptop.

As the district calls them, "A good fit" for an options school.

A "good fit" with bad luck...

And when you try to teach your children empathy, it becomes impossible to celebrate your own happiness when you know that your sister, your friends are just a random flip of the coin on the opposite side...

Okay, I'm listening...

There are times when the Gods or Goddesses have a message for me, and it comes when I least expect it.

Today, I was working on an assignment for my Collection Development class and reviewing the middle school library's philosophy section. For some reason, a book on Confucius caught my eye. Instead of just checking it for a copyright date and doing a quick check of its merit, I pulled up a chair and started reading.

And the first quote I paged to was this:

Don't worry when people fail to recognize your merits. Worry when you fail to recognize theirs.   -- Confucius

Okay, Gods and Goddesses, I got the message.

And I will try harder.

We've come a long way, Baby...

I was going through pictures this afternoon and found these. In this day of digital pictures, these had been printed out long ago and filed for me to scrapbook. Only that never happened...

My scrapbooking stopped about the time of the diagnosis.

This picture was taken nine years ago -- at our first Jingle Bell Run. My 2-year old had been diagnosed with Juvenile Rheumatoid Arthritis just a few months earlier.

It was a much smaller run then (maybe a couple hundred people). I ran the entire course with tears in my eyes, wondering if my daughter would ever have the thrill of running a road race. Afterwards,  we bumped into our new pediatric rheumatologist . He was like a stranger. Now, he greets me with a big hug and insists that I call him by his first name. He's an integral part of our lives.

At the time, I knew no one who had a child with JRA. I felt terribly alone.

I look at that little baby in my arms and think of what she had been through at that point: already a round of joint injections and she was well into her 2nd month of weekly injections of the chemo drug. She was brave then -- just as she is now.

I wish I could go back and tell them both that it's going to be okay, that the next nine years won't be tough. But that would be a lie.

I can tell them this blasted disease won't stop Ellie.

• She will run and swim and kick soccer goals.
• She will climb trees and rock climb and tap dance.
• She will hurt, a toe will fuse, joints will be injected, and we will learn that it sucks to get arthritis in the jaw.
• Shot day will come twice a week -- not just once, and it will be as simple as brushing her teeth. 
• She will write about her disease and explain that it makes her "unique." How's that for a bright side?

And as a family...

• We will find other families who are also fighting this disease. I will never know what it's like to feel alone with this diagnosis.
• We will be inspired by the children who face this disease everyday with dignity, courage, and amazing resilience.
• We will find our voices and become advocates for the 300,000 children who hurt and deserve a childhood free of pain.
• We will see more medical professionals than we ever could have imagined: physical therapists, an orthotist, a naturopath, our pediatric rheumatologist, a neurologist, an ophthalmologist, an orthopedic surgeon, and an oral surgeon. All to treat this disease and the toll it has taken on her body...
• We will see compassion in our daughter who doesn't suffer from this disease, who piggy backs her little sister through the house without even asking why.
• We will gain lifelong friends who push us to do the right thing when we're afraid, who give us tips and tricks, and aren't afraid to give us advice -- even when we might not want to hear it.

And I will discover that you can give birth to something much stronger than you.

Glogster

Next week, I'm teaching the 5th graders about Glogster, an online poster maker. This tool was named one of the top ALA technology tools in 2010.

It seems as if Ellie is always working on a poster for one project or another, and using Glogster seemed like a fun way to show students that they can express themselves online and create things just as beautifully. The students are also working on a poetry unit, so we're combining our efforts and having them post their poem in Glogster. Two of my favorite things combined in one...

In the meantime, I've been playing around a bit with the tool. This is a simple first pass, so students have a baseline (i.e, no bells and whistles... yet). I really like the format of this poem. It has the students examine their beliefs -- in the present, past, and future. Some are seemingly contradictory, but when you think about it, they're not.

Anyway, here's a link to my latest project and MY poem (a fun exercise for me as well):

http://dawniek.edu.glogster.com/dkpastpresentfuture/

Letting go...

As a mother, I'm constantly reminded that there are times I can't be everywhere. For me, this is bittersweet. I'm lucky that I have a hubby and friends who help out. For that, I'm grateful.

However, there are moments that I don't want to miss. A lot of these trace back to my memories of being a child and having my mother with me...

Recently, I had one of those moments when I had to let go, when I had to let Doug take charge.

Monday night as the girls were headed to bed, Emma started to complain about a tummy ache. It became more serious as the tears started streaming down her face. By 8:00, she was in the bathroom with her head in the toilet. Once she stopped the first round of vomiting, she started to cry, "But you have your test tomorrow!"

True... For the past week, I had been studying for a state test on the civil rights of students -- my head crammed full of law cases and their implications in the classroom. And I have to admit that when my daughter first mentioned her tummy ache, I immediately thought of my test early the next morning.

I reassured Emma that it wasn't a big deal, and we'd work out. I headed to bed early to make sure I was rested up for the test, and sure enough, at 10:30, I heard the cry, "Mama!"

Doug greeted me at the top of the stairs as I headed out of my bedroom -- toward the cry. He redirected me back to bed with a "Let me take care of this."

I wish I could say that I fell right back to sleep, but I didn't. I laid there, listening, waiting.

I woke at 12:30, 1:30 and then 3:30 as the cries switched from "Mama!" to "Daddy!"

Every time I woke. my mommy instinct was in full force, and it was all I could do not to charge out and hold Em's head and try to make it all better. Memories of MY mother with her cold hand on my forehead, a wet washcloth waiting for me, and a glass of 7UP to follow everything up...

Part of learning that I can't be on call 24x7 is letting go. For me, it's letting others help, and I readily admit that I'm not always good at that.

But it's more than just that: it's about sharing those moments. And perhaps I've been selfish in NOT wanting to share them -- the sweet hugs, the kind moments of appreciation from a child when they start to feel better, the times when I can TRULY take care of my kiddos again -- without them insisting that they're FINE.

But for now, it's MY turn to tend to my hubby who now has that same tummy bug...

No cud chewing!

Happy 2012!

While January brings new resolutions for most, I’m focusing on mantras this year. In the past, I’ve created resolutions – some that were pretty successful (5+ months completely gluten-free) and some that didn’t go quite as well (no size 6 jeans here).

And there are some resolutions that I strive toward every year, knowing that these are ongoing:

• move more
• eat healthy
• be present more

But this year, I’ve decided to try a mantra instead of a resolution. A new way of looking at things…

As a chronic worrier, I spend far too much time in the past. Over the holiday break, I read an article in Real Simple, describing this behavior as “ruminating.”

I’m clearly a ruminator.

A cow.
A cud chewer.
Someone who regurgitates life – instead of swallowing it whole and moving on.

I choose to relive moments again and again, wondering how they could have played out differently. Wondering “What if?” instead of “What’s next?”

So, you see the need for my ongoing resolution to be present more? But since that resolution hasn’t been so effective, I’m going to try this mantra:

I can’t control what’s going to happen, but I can control my reaction to it.

And for me, my reaction is going to be to float on past. I will hitch a ride on the nearest cumulus cloud and ride the jet stream.

I will focus on the freckle pattern on Emma’s face.

The golden highlights in Ellie’s hair.
The way my hands are starting to look like my mother’s.

I will float on past and not look at the past and worry.  And ruminate.

And in 2012, I have a goal to exercise my writing muscle every week. Let’s see how well this goes, but here’s to goals, resolutions, and mantras. No matter how you get there, we’re all just trying to be the best we can be.